Claimed By The Wrong Billionaire

Pregnant

VENUS POV

I slipped into the sequined dress, the fabric hugging my body like it was made just for me. The hem barely covered my thighs, and the lace bra pushed my chest up, making me look like something out of a dream. The mirror in my tiny bathroom was cracked, but it showed enough. I leaned forward, swiping on red lipstick, the body oil on my skin catching the light.

Tonight, I wasn’t Veronica, the broke egg donor with fertility drugs in her system. Tonight, I was Venus—the woman every man in the club would empty his wallet for.

The music hit me as soon as I stepped onto the stage, the bass vibrating through my body. The crowd was the usual mix—suits, ball caps, and men who thought throwing money made them kings. I locked eyes with one—a man in a sharp suit who looked like he had more money than sense and gave him a slow, knowing smile as I wrapped my hand around the pole.

I moved to the beat, hips swaying, body bending like I was made of fire. Every twist, every turn sent the room into chaos. Cheers erupted, and dollar bills rained down like confetti. But I wasn’t just here to dance; I was here to make them want me.

Their eyes followed me as I dropped into a split, arching my back so my body was on full display. I caught the man in the suit shifting in his seat, his hand subtly adjusting himself. A thrill shot through me. I had them all right where I wanted them.

By the end of my set, my G-string was stuffed with cash more than I’d made in weeks.

---

For the next three weeks, I lived two lives: cleaner by day, stripper by night. Every spare moment was spent learning everything I could about Damon Ashford. I took fertility classes online, studied every article about him, and carefully timed my fertility drugs. The sperm in my system has to become a baby. It has to.

I grabbed the pregnancy test I’d bought earlier that week from my bag and headed to the bathroom.

My hands shook as I tore the box open. Pee on the stick, wait three minutes, change your life forever. Simple enough.

I sat on the edge of the tub, holding the test in one hand, the other gripping the edge of the sink to keep myself steady.

“Just show already, damn it.” I muttered.

Then it happened.

Two lines.

Two damn lines.

I stared at the tiny window on the test, blinking as if that would change what I was seeing. Two lines. Positive. Pregnant. I exhaled, and a shaky laugh escaped my lips. “Holy shit.”

“f**k! I’m pregnant. I’m carrying Damon’s child.”

The laughter died away and a different feeling settled in my core—like standing on the edge of a cliff and looking down. This wasn’t just a test result. This was a ticket. My way out of this dump. My chance to finally claw my way out of the gutter and into a life that didn’t reek of poverty. A chance to make things easier for my family.

To finally have enough money for my mother’s surgery.

But then the fear hit. What if it didn’t work? What if Damon found out and crushed me?

My legs felt like jelly as I stumbled into the tiny living room and sank onto the couch.

“Okay, Veronica,” I muttered to myself, my voice trembling. “Think. Plan. You’ve got this.”

I couldn’t just walk into his office and say, Hey, remember that condom you threw away? Surprise, it’s me and your baby. He’d laugh me out of the building—if he didn’t have me arrested first. No, I needed to be smarter. I needed leverage. Something he couldn’t ignore or dismiss.

But first, I needed proof.

Real proof. No matter what it cost me, I’d visit one of the best hospitals.

I pulled up his name on my phone, scrolling through article after article. Damon Ashford. Billionaire tycoon. A god among men.

Every photo of him screamed power—sharp jawline, piercing eyes that could strip a person bare, and a smirk that promised he always got what he wanted.

But even gods had their weaknesses.

I stared at his face, my fingers grazing the screen, imagining him looking at me—cussing me out.

---

The next morning, I was at the clinic the moment the doors opened. The receptionist barely glanced up as I signed in. I sat in the waiting room, the antiseptic air thick in my lungs, clutching my bag like it held all my dreams.

When they called my name, my legs betrayed me. The nurse smiled politely as she drew my blood, her voice an echo as I nodded along. I couldn’t focus on her small talk. My mind was already racing ahead, imagining the outcome, the possibilities, the saving grace that could be mine if this worked.

When she finally handed me the results, my heart threatened to explode. Her smile widened as she said the words I’d been praying to hear. “Congratulations.”

My hands trembled as I unfolded the paper, still holding my breath. Positive. Pregnant.

I stepped out into the morning light, clutching the proof like my life depended on it. Because it did. My chest swelled with something I hadn’t felt in years—hope.

I would be the one to change everything for good.

My mother would leave long enough for her to see my sister get married.

Everything will be fine now.